


Sometimes

by beautiful_flyaway



Series: City & Colour; Friend to Lover [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, City and Colour, Dallas Green, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Frotting, Idiots in Love, Leafs, M/M, Mutually Unrequited, Not So Platonic Cuddling, Pining, Platonic Cuddling, Toronto Maple Leafs, songfics, tml
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-11-30 10:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11461809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautiful_flyaway/pseuds/beautiful_flyaway
Summary: "Mitch knew almost right away. Almost. Like, yeah, they’d met in passing a couple of times, and knew each other by reputation, but as soon as he laced up and hit the ice with Auston Matthews for the first time he knew that, in one way or another, he would be Mitch’s undoing."Set to the music of City and Colour's first album, Sometimes.





	1. ... Off By Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, the biggest shoutout here goes to theundiagnosable, who writes the greatest Marnthews fic, and who inspired me to try my own hand at it. This is my first time venturing into... this whole new world of fic writing. So let's hope it goes well!

_The stars are aligned, but they don't align for us_

_Excuse me for I am the ocean, and I will starve for you_

_Will you know how to stay brave?_

_Such fragile moments we share_

_You are my everything_

_Even with nothing to say_

                It almost felt cliché that Mitch would end up falling for the star player of the Toronto Maple Leafs. Never mind the fact that he also played for them, and was kind of also up there in _star_ status, that wasn’t the point. Because, no, when he was a kid watching hockey in his blue and while TML pyjamas, he wasn’t thinking about growing up and living happily ever after with an NHL Prince or anything… But he did idolize these boys in blue, saw them with stars in his eyes, and spent every day of his young life trying to get close to them in the one way he knew how.

                Mitch knew almost right away. Almost. Like, yeah, they’d met in passing a couple of times, and knew each other by reputation, but as soon as he laced up and hit the ice with Auston Matthews for the first time he knew that, in one way or another, he would be Mitch’s undoing.

                It seemed like fate (Mitch wasn’t sure he believed in fate until 2016) that he and Matts would play their rookie years together, and that they should have such perfect chemistry on and off the ice. It was so easy to play with Aus: Mitch was small, fast, a playmaker – and Matts was his perfect complement, making beautiful passes, following through on Mitch’s plays, being the power and force to his speed and agility. Together, they were perfect, and Toronto loved them.

                Hell, the rest of the team loved them too. There were times Mitch was sure that Mo and Bozie wanted to literally hoist the two rookies on their shoulders and parade them around the locker room amidst the cheers of the rest of the Leafs. It never happened, thankfully, but the love was definitely felt.

                It made sense to everyone how quickly they became friends. And approximately no one was surprised when they became inseparable, attached at the hip. Marner and Matthews. Matty and Marns.

                After home games, Matts climbed into Mitch’s truck and chirped him while he scream-sang along to Taylor Swift, and they would go back to one of their apartments – because fuck making two stops. And on roadies, the rest of the guys knew better than to sit next to Auston or Mitch on the bus back to the hotel, because it was a goddamn fact that the seat was reserved. And somehow… somehow, after they were showered and dressed in just their sleep clothes, they inevitably ended up in the same bed, wrapped in the same covers, and. And Mitch didn’t want to say they _cuddled_ because that had implications, but… but Mitch’s cold feet rubbed against Auston’s warm ones, and their torsos always touched in one way or another, and it would have taken just a small crane of Mitch’s neck to bridge the gap between their lips and kiss the great Auston Matthews.

                But it was whatever, right? So what if Matts was as beautiful as the hockey he played, and made Mitch laugh until his muscles hurt more than a hit from Evander Kane (or so he imagined, and hoped he’d never have to find out), and his smile was like he brought a little bit of Arizona with him wherever he went? Who hasn’t been attracted to their team mates at one time or another? It was just a little crush, it would go away…

                Except it wasn’t, and it wouldn’t, and Mitch knew he was must have been a bad liar, if he couldn’t even lie to himself. Auston was everything in his life that wasn’t hockey…

                And the whole thing terrified him.

                Because he _was_ the fucking Great Auston Matthews, and everyone knew he’d wear the C one day, and he was straight as the blue line and Mitch was just… well, Mitch. Last year’s fourth overall, had to stay back with the Knights for a season, had a face that was mostly mouth when he smiled, just Mitch everything-is-on-my-diet-plan-because-I-need-to-bulk-up Marner.

                So basically it was hopeless, and so was he but what was he supposed to do? Distance himself from Auston? Yeah, that’d go over well.

                _“Hey, coach. I can’t play on the Matthews/Nylander line anymore because I’m pining over one of my lineys, and it isn’t Willy.”_

Yup, problem solved. Babs was sure to go for that.

                Not seeing Matts off the ice didn’t seem like an option to him either; he wasn’t willing to give up this amazing friendship they’d forged because his heart had to go and catch feelings. And any space Mitch put between them would only rouse suspicion from Aus, which would cause more problems than it would solve.

                So yeah, Mitch’s life was going great.

                “Hey, Earth to Mitchy. You in there, dude?” The gentle rapping of knuckles on his skull brought him back to reality, made him realize he’d spent the last twenty minutes wrapped in a towel, dripping wet, and thinking about Auston. Who was now staring down at him, expecting some sort of response.

                “Just. Just taking the L pretty hard, I guess,” Mitch offered, and apparently he was _only_ bad at lying to himself, because Aus seemed to accept the response.

                “It’s just the first of the season, Marns. It doesn’t really matter.” Which he knew Matts didn’t really believe. They’d just played their first game of the 2017 season in Winnipeg, just given their first loss to the Jets, and he knew Auston was taking it harder than Mitch ever would. “But the bus is gonna leave without us if you don’t hurry your pasty ass up.” And so, his inner turmoil was stored into the back of his mind for the time being. Mitch haphazardly threw on his suit – which clung uncomfortably to his still moist body – and he half-ran next to Auston to catch their ride.

                “What took so long, Marns?” Kappy chirped from the seat behind him, grabbing a strand of his still wet hair. “Did Byfuglien use you as a towel, and forget to ring you out?”

                “That doesn’t even make any sense,” Mitch countered, but he was laughing anyways because it was so bad, and Willy was back there laughing too, and Auston was doing a bad job of stifling his own chuckle, and these guys made any L feel like a W in his book.

                The ride back to their hotel was brief, and the four of them spent it exchanging chirps, testing out the daily Snapchat filters, and sharing memes, and when it was time to split off into their separate rooms, there were hugs and bro-fists, like they wouldn’t see each other the next morning. Then Willy and Kasperi disappeared into one room, while Auston and Mitch entered their own.

                There were two Queen sized beds, all neatly made up in ugly floral patterned linens, but both of them knew that only one would end up used tonight. A fact made even more evident when Auston started dumping his overnight bag and jacket on the bed closest to the door. Mitch collapsed back onto the other, kicking off his shoes, and letting out a comically exaggerated sigh. Something small and hard came flying and hit him square in the stomach.

                “Beautiful save by Marner, holy Mackinaw! This kid is wasting his talent as a winger!” Auston cheered as he dug around for a change of clothes, and Mitch found he’d been struck with the TV remote. He couldn’t contain his laughter at his stupid, beautiful best friend.

                “You’ll put Joe Bowen out of a job,”

                “He had a good run,” Auston insisted, before ducking into the bathroom to change out of his suit. Mitch took the time to do the same, and by the time Matts emerged, they were both in boxers and Aus is in his Centennial Classic t-shirt and God his best friend is stupidly beautiful. And it was just routine now, that Mitch pulled back the covers, and Aus climbed in first and got comfortable, and Mitch curled himself around his friend until they were _definitely not_ snuggling, but they weren’t _not_ snuggling either, and it would be strange if it were anyone else but Auston.

                But again, it _was_ Auston, and his calloused fingers found their way under the hem of Mitch’s shirt and traced absent minded lines on his skin, and Mitch had his face buried in Auston’s chest… There was a world’s worth of words on the tip of his tongue, but even a single one of them could shatter the perfection of not only this moment, but of their friendship as a whole.

                His heart screamed deafeningly, louder than any crowd he’d ever heard at the ACC, but in this silence here, there was just Mitch, and Auston, and nothing to say.


	2. Like Knives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sheets are stained with  
> Memories of your soft kiss  
> Now this is all I have  
> Paper and pen to remember you with...
> 
> In which we watch Auston angst over his best friend.

_Your words are like knives_

_They peel my skin and pierce my soul..._

_Your body will burn tonight..._

_Though your heart may still remain cold_

 

     Mitch had drifted to sleep hours ago, with his forehead pressed between Auston’s pecs, and his fingers tangled in the fabric of his t-shirt, and Auston’s heart in the palms of his hands. But for Auston, sleep was miles away… maybe it had stayed back in Toronto, or had made a break for it back to Arizona, but it certainly wasn’t here in Winnipeg with him now.

 _“Just taking the L pretty hard, I guess.”_ Auston knew Marns well enough to know when he was lying. When literally everyone but him had made it onto the team bus, Auston had gone back to look for him, had expected to find him struggling with his tie, or cornered by some straggler from the press. What he hadn’t expected to find was Mitch staring forlornly at nothing, faraway look in his blue eyes, still soaked from his post-game shower, as though he’d been paused like a video game.

     And when Auston brought him back to reality, his explanation was flimsy at best, because it was the first game of the season, and everyone knew that the first game didn’t really matter, and Dustin Byfuglien was a fucking tank, so his D was definitely a challenge to get around.  

     So yeah. Auston knew he was lying. He just wished he knew why. If there was something wrong, Auston wanted to help; Mitch was his best friend, and he loved the guy… in a totally platonic no-homo kind of way. In his arms, Mitch stirred, made some quiet sleepy noises, and burrowed in closer to Auston, and his heart absolutely did not start pounding like he’d just scored the game winner in OT. Or maybe it did, who cares?

     Yup, his feelings for Marns were totally platonic. No homo at all.

     Like most things with Mitch – their perfect harmony on the ice, their friendship, their goddamn bed sharing – Auston wasn’t sure when or why the feelings started, or what the fuck he was supposed to do with them now they existed. But being around Mitch made things feel normal and easy, and made his heart feel… warm? Like yes, he was always Auston Matthews, rookie of the year 2k17, and Mitch, as a lifelong Leafs fan, thought that was pretty cool, but he also saw past that:

      He saw the Auston that occasionally puked his guts up after a night of drinking, and he brought that Auston Gatorade and Advil for his hangovers. He saw the Auston that actually cried after their game six loss against the Caps, and was there to comfort that Auston, reminding him it was literally their first year in the NHL, there’d be lots of years to win a Cup.

     He saw the absolute worst of Auston. And he not only stayed, but did everything he could to bring Auston back to his best. Mitch Marner was the reason he was able to be Auston Matthews for the press, for the team, for the city of Toronto. But for some reason, Marns felt like Auston couldn’t be that same person for him. And that hurt, like a puck to the face.

     Auston glanced over Mitch’s shoulder to the clock on the bedside table. The digital red numbers told him it was 5:58am, and Mitch’s phone alarm would be ringing in two minutes to wake them up, even though Auston just wanted to lie here, tangled up in his best friend, forever.

     It was on impulse, without any semblance of a thought, that Auston nuzzled his face into Marns’ hair, and dropped a kiss onto the top of his head. As soon as his lips left the soft brown hair, Mitch’s cell signalled the arrival of 6am, telling the both of them to _hit ‘em with the four like Auston Matthews_ because eight months later Mitch still found it hilarious for some reason. And Auston thought it was ridiculous, but he couldn’t complain, because Marns woke up in a fit of laughter that was absolutely contagious, in spite of his gloomy mood. 

     Waking up laughing with Mitch Marner was hardly something to complain about (not that Auston had been sleeping).

     After shutting off the god-awful song with a stretch and a yawn, Mitch fell lazily back against the pillows.

     “Mornin’,” he smiled his crooked smile up at Auston, and Auston was sure he knew how to breathe two minutes ago, but he’d be damned if he could remember how to now, but instead of giving him time to catch his breath, Marns just carried on. “Ready to hit ‘em with the four today, Matts?”

     And after a pause that was probably far too long, he managed to sputter out a reply.

     “Someone’s gotta do it.” He tossed a shrug in there, hoping it would come off as casual and not the _your-smile-literally-takes-my-breath-away-oh-and-by-the-way-I-kissed-you-while-you-were-sleeping_ cover up that it really was. But, really, fuck him. He should have known better, because Marns knew him better than he even knew himself, and was too sweet, and cared too much to leave any sort of unease to eat away at Auston.

     They stared at each other in silence for a beat, Mitch’s smile falling progressively until it was a frown marring his pretty face, and Auston was feeling more raw and exposed with every passing second.

     “Aus, what’s up?” And for some strange reason _I’m in love with my best friend, no biggie_ didn’t seem like the most appropriate response, even though Mitch’s eyes were full of kindness and the sound of his voice was like going home, and he wanted to bear his soul and bleed it out to Mitch here and now. Instead, all he said was:

     “It’s nothing, man,” which made Marns’ face scrunch up in distaste and disbelief.

     “The fact that you said it’s nothing means it’s something,” he pressed, which was spot on, and Auston felt personally attacked by the truth behind it.

     “Yeah, well, you can lie to me when something’s wrong with you, so I thought I’d give it a try,” Auston spat, and it was with far more venom than he’d intended. “Maybe I’m just taking the L pretty hard.” Because the words were flowing now, and letting these emotions out seemed so much easier than having to face the inevitable _just friends_ talk he’d get if he told Mitch about his real ones.

     And yeah, he felt fucking awful about the expression that had crept onto Mitch’s face, like a scolded puppy that didn’t know why he was being scolded. He felt even worse about the fact that he’d been the one to make him look that way. Mitch didn’t even say anything as he crawled out of bed, grabbed his phone and his overnight bag, and headed for the door, still in his sleep clothes.

     No, this isn’t what Auston wanted, he didn’t mean to…

     “Marns, wait,” but Mitch just waived his hand dismissively, not even sparing a glance back at Auston as he left their hotel room.

     For the first time in a year, since their first game out of the ACC (it was against the Sabres, and they’d won 8-1), Auston and Mitch didn’t sit together on the flight home.

     And Auston hated it. He hated catching himself staring at the back of Mitch’s head, listening to him laugh with Willy and Kappy, getting chirped by Mo and Bozie who still refused to let go of the _Finlish_ thing, and Mitch chirping them back… when he would usually be passed out on Auston’s shoulder, sharing a pair of earbuds with him while they listened to the previous day’s Overdrive podcast.

     Auston had his phone on airplane mode, but he kept typing and retyping a text to send to Marns once they’d landed, contemplating whether or not he’d actually send it, whether or not he deserved for Mitch to read it.

 **_Auston:_ ** _I’m sorry, come back, I need you_

 

_And I will blame myself_

_For holding on to what I hoped would keep you by my side_

_I will blame myself_

_Can I have you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, these chapters are so short? Like by the time all the chapters are posted, it will be a proper length, but if you're reading as I go, then it's easy reading. And if you are reading, thank you so much. <3


	3. Hello, I'm in Delaware

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wild Stromer appears... I wonder what he'll bring into the mix.

_My body aches,_

_and it hurts to sing,_

_and no one is moving_

_And I wish that I weren't here tonight,_

_but this is my life_

               

             Mitch really didn’t mean to spill his guts to Willy and Kappy while sprawled out on their hotel room floor that morning.

             Really, he didn’t.

             But he’d still been half asleep, and his best friend had snapped at him, and his Auston-related emotions were already in disarray, and that’s now Mitch Marner ended up coming out to William Nylander and Kasperi Kapanen in Winnipeg on the morning of October 5th, 2017. And to say that neither of them cared would have been an overstatement, but… but it was like Mitch admitting that he loved Auston didn’t even phase them, they just picked him up off the floor and pulled him into a group hug, offering him the same comfort they would after they’d suffered a big loss, or if one of them got sent down to the Marlies.

            “Don’t worry about him, bro.” Willy had said, clapping him on the back, and moving to start packing up the disaster that was their room. “If he doesn’t smarten up, we’ll kick his ass.”

             “We could replace his shampoo with hair remover,” Kappy suggested. “Or put icy hot in his helmet.” His Nordic team mates had him laughing in no time. Kept him laughing the whole time they got ready for their flight. And it just felt so good, so liberating, to know that his boys didn’t see him any differently with his deepest secret out at centre ice.

             “Don’t worry, Mitch; he’ll come around,” Nylander told him later that morning, as they walked through the air bridge that lead them onto their plane home. He was flanked by Willy on one side, and Kasperi on the other, both of them making sure no errant Calder trophy winners tried to approach him. It seemed like a lot, because it was just Auston, and maybe Mitch was over reacting, and he knew just one look into those brown eyes and Matts would be completely forgiven and – no.

              Maybe it was petty (okay, it was definitely petty) but Mitch wanted to be mad. For a year, he’d been there for Auston through good times and bad ones, wins and losses, the highest highs and the lowest fucking lows, and if he was honest… today wasn’t the first time Aus had been less than stellar in return.

              No, Fuck that. Today wasn’t the first time he’d returned Mitch’s compassion with downright hostility. And, whether he loved the guy or not, he deserved better from someone who claimed to be his best friend. So, yeah. Mitch was going to spend some time being salty. Sue him.

              “Could be a while, he’s got a pretty thick skull,” Mitch chirped quietly, just loud enough for his two man entourage to hear. “Like, seriously. Have you seen the size of his skull? Things massive.”

               Back in Toronto, Mitch felt weirdly relieved to be home, like he’d been gone for months instead of only twenty-four hours, and when he got behind the wheel of his truck, it was only just past noon, the sun was still high in the sky, and it was barely cool enough to need a sweater thanks to the late arrival of summer this year. And it left him with absolutely no desire to coop himself up in his apartment, where thoughts of nights spent with Auston would block out the daylight.

               So Mitch drove. He drove with the windows down, and Q107 turned way the fuck up, and he sang terribly at the top of his lungs, because that’s just how Mitch Marner rolled. It felt therapeutic, to shout out all of his frustrations along to 50 Mission Cap, and Fly at Night, and Summer of ’69, and he was feeling great until Livin’ on a Prayer started to play, and his heart sank into his stomach.

               With his organs moving into places they had no business being, Mitch pulled into the nearest parking lot – the outdoor lot at the corner of Front and John, across from the Boston Pizza – and slapped fifty bucks on the attendant’s counter. As he crossed the street, and ran up the concrete staircase, passing street meat vendors on his right, and the MTCC on his left, he realized that telling himself to not think about Auston Matthews was a lot like telling himself to not think about pink elephants.

               So, pretty fucking difficult.

               Maybe he should just text Matts, get the whole thing over with. He knew they’d be back to normal again by tomorrow anyways…

               Instead, he walked past the Rogers Centre, devoid of life now that the MLB season had come to an end, and the Jays hadn’t come anywhere close to making the playoffs. It’s not like that made Mitch happy, or anything; Toronto athletes had to stick together to defend each other from the absolutely vicious media. But… it took a bit of the heat off them... but only a bit. The Leafs had far surpassed anyone’s expectations last season, so maybe the Sun could leave his and Auston’s face off the front page for a while.

               Rather than making the full circle around the stadium, Mitch took the next set of stairs that led him down to the base of the CN Tower, and for a while he just… just stared up at it. Watched it sway gently in the early autumn breeze, watched some adrenaline junkies in red coveralls do the Edge Walk, and felt small, invisible for a while. He wished he had someone here to appreciate insignificance with him. Someone who was under constant pressure to be the best all the time, and to keep getting better. Someone who played some of the best hockey Mitch had ever seen. Someone with warm brown eyes and a thick skull, and…

                Yeah, he was gonna text Matts.

                Mitch dug his phone out of his pocket, and realized he still hadn’t turned it back on after the flight. It booted up painfully slowly, and when it did, before he could even open his messenger app, two texts came through. One was, unsurprisingly, from Auston. It was simple, to the point:

 **_Auston_ ** _: Marns, I’m sorry_

                And he would have sent him something back… if the other message hadn’t caught his attention. It was from Dylan Strome, and it had been far too long since he’d talked to Stromer.

 **_Dylan_ ** _: Hey Bro, gonna b in downtown area 2morrow, take me 4 dinner?_

                God, it was so like Dyls to be so forward, no pretences, not beating around the bush. It was refreshing. But then, Dylan had always been refreshing.

 **_Mitch:_ ** _If I’m buying, you know I expect some… thanks later ;)_

                It was a joke, of course. But Stromer responded with a wink of his own, and an eggplant emoji, and just like that, a date was set and Mitch had opened up Pokémon GO (because there was a raid battle nearby, and he wanted that Moltres), and texting Auston had just… slipped his mind.

                It wasn’t until Mitch was laying in his bed that night. Alone. Wearing a t-shirt that was a size or two too big for him but that _certainly_ wasn’t Auston’s, and he was overtaken by a sadness that only sleeping alone could bring him, that he remembered he still hadn’t responded to Aus’ text. He picked his phone up off of his bedside table, and stared at the screen for a while, wondering what to say back.

                _I take everything you say really personally because I love you, but for that exact same reason I can’t stay mad at you_?

                Seemed a bit too on the nose.

 **_Mitch:_ ** _You’re a dick, but you’re forgiven_

 **_Auston:_ ** _I am a dick. But thanks, bro. Don’t like you being mad at me_

 **_Mitch:_ ** _Ditto_

 **_Auston:_ ** _See you at practice in the AM_

And with that off of his mind, Mitch fell asleep thinking about skating with Matts in the morning, and seeing Stromer tomorrow night, and with a smile on his face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really enjoying taking a mental walk through Toronto with Mitchy, past the Metro Convention Centre, past the Sky Dome, standing below the CN Tower.


	4. Save Your Scissors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So go on  
> And I will refrain  
> And I'll keep on running this never ending race  
> maybe next time will be the right time  
> and maybe next time will be your time
> 
> or, Auston is messy, and really, no one can deny it.

_So save your scissors for someone else's skin_

_My surface is so tough_

_I don't think the blade will dig in_

_Save your strength, save your wasted time_

_There's no way that I want you to be left behind_

                Auston had though he was pretty lame when the first thing he did upon seeing Mitch in the morning was toss his arms around his friend’s neck… and Marns had told him as much.

                “Dude, lame.” But Marns was laughing, with no malice behind his words, and with that smile that was completely infectious plastered across his face, so Auston didn’t care. He hugged him from the passenger’s seat of the truck for far longer than was strictly necessary, because even a single day of not talking to Mitchy had been way too long, and he just wanted things to go back to normal, even if that meant pining, and constant sidelong glances, and a dull ache in his chest that never quite subsided. He wanted whatever Mitch would give him.

                Things were pretty much business as usual on the drive to the rink: the two of them arguing over the radio station – because Mitch’s taste in music was atrocious, and no they would _not_ be listening to KX96, but Marns refused to let Auston plug his phone into the AUX port, and so they both ended up unhappy when they compromised and settled on Virgin Radio – and Marns missing the turn into the underground parking because he was busy singing loudly, and badly to Malibu by Miley Cyrus, and it was... it was exactly the routine that had caused Auston to fall for his team mate in the first place. So it was nice.

                A little bit painful, but nice.  

                They walked down the concrete halls of the ACC, equipment bags slung over their shoulders, talking about hockey and video games and how _thank god it’s an off day after morning skate_ because getting back into the swing of the season was surprisingly tiring after a few months off, and it’s all so normal, that Auston wants it to continue.

                “My place for takeout and COD after practice?” He catches Mitch by the wrist, and pulls him around to ask before they cross the threshold into the locker room. His voice is hushed, like he’s asking something scandalous, something he doesn’t want the guys to hear, instead of just the same question they ask each other, like, a hundred-and-fifty times a year. Marns hits him with a smile that’s all teeth, but shakes his head.

                “Nah, bro. Thanks, but I’ve got a date tonight.” And then Mitch is walking to his stall, stripping out of his civvies and into his gear and Auston feels like he’s just been sucker punched. He’s down on the ice, bleeding and seeing stars, and the wind has been knocked out of him, and really he’s just standing there stupidly outside the Leaf’s changeroom getting all angsty over the mere mention of Mitch Marner on a date. He was a fucking mess.

                Practice didn’t go well after that. Auston spent its entirety in a daze – giving up easy shots, passing to the wrong team mates, and at one point, skating directly into Naz, sending them both plummeting into a pile of skates and sticks and limbs at centre ice.

                “Dude, everything okay with you today?” Naz asked him while they both climbed back to their feet. “You’re all spacey.”

                And, God no, everything was not okay. But, good a guy as he was, Nazem Kadri was not someone Auston was about to unload onto. He glanced around the rink, saw Brownie and JVR chirping them over the collision from the neutral zone, saw Mo and Gards racing each other along the boards, saw Mitch absolutely nowhere, and realized there was no one on the team he felt like he could really unload on… He always just talked to Mitch. The fuck was he supposed to do when Mitch was the problem?

                “It’s nothing, man,” he shrugged, which was apparently becoming his go-to response for that question. And Naz just eyed him sceptically.

                “Okay. But if you ever want to talk about it, me and Jazzy are here for you.” And damnit, Auston had to laugh, because there was no such thing as a conversation with Kadri that didn’t involve his cat in one way or another, and even though he had never been, like, super close with him, right now he just wanted to hug the guy.

                “Thanks bro. I know.”

                Auston grabbed an Uber home, both wanting and not wanting to spend the commute with Mitch… and the _not_ winning out, because in the state he was in, he worried that he might to something stupid in Mitch’s passenger seat, like admit to a feeling or two. And just. No. He was Auston Matthews, and people had expectation for him. Expectations that didn’t include becoming the face of YCP after getting rejected by his team mate. Like, he couldn’t afford to be that fucking messy.

                But after he dropped off his shit, home was making him restless, like the walls were closing in on him. He spent the daylight hours brooding, napping restlessly, attempting meal prep for the week, but everything he tried to do felt excruciating, and nothing was enough of a distraction to get Mitch and his date off of his mind. He needed to escape, and he needed it bad, so he pulled on a hat, and jacket (which all the Canadian guys would have chirped him for, but fuck them, 40 degrees is cold as far as he’s concerned), and he ran out the door with no real thought about where he was going.

                And… and he didn’t mean to end up at the Timmie’s across from Mitch’s place. But he just sort of did? He sat by the window, earbuds blocking out the din of the customers, and his hood up to avoid being recognized, and he ate chilli and a twelve grain bagel, sipped black coffee, and just… watched. He wasn’t being weird, or anything, because it’s not like he was watching specifically for Mitch, he just _happened_ to be here, and if he just _happened_ to spot him then…

                If there was such a thing as a Mitchy-Sense, then Auston had it, because he had this innate feeling that he needed to look up right fucking then, and when he glanced at Mitch’s building across the road, of course he was there. And sure enough, so was his _date._ Auston wanted so badly to not be bitter, to see a pretty girl hanging off his best friend’s arm, laughing at his bad jokes, following him up to his apartment for like… _coffee,_ or whatever. He could have been okay with all of that, maybe could have been happy for him in spite of the crushing sadness it would have caused.

                But something about seeing Marns walking arm in arm with Dylan Strome? It had him feeling… feeling...

                Fuck, he didn’t know what his feelings were doing, but whatever it was, he didn’t like it. He watched as Mitch backed himself into the building’s front doors, watched as he pulled Stromer in against him, and the two of them started making out like horny teenagers. And then he couldn’t watch any more.

                When he walked out into the evening air, Mitch and Dylan were nowhere to be seen, which. Good. Auston didn’t need to see that. He started walking aimlessly, letting the hours slip away, and the sun sink below the horizon as he wandered. And he just didn’t stop, until he found himself somewhere that he recognized, and he wasn’t sure if he was there on purpose, or it was just some sort of dumb coincidence, but he took it for what it was as he approached the high rise of condos.

                He looked at the list of buzzers until he found the familiar name on the list, then jammed the button for an unnecessary amount of time. There was an answer almost immediately.

                “Hello?”

                “Hey, Naz. You and Jazzy still up for that talk?”

_There is something that I must confess to you tonight_

_To you tonight_

_And that is I expect nothing less from you tonight_

_From you tonight_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk where Mitch lives, or where this mysterious Timmie's is? So like. Use your imagination?


	5. In the Water, I Am Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stromer and Mitch eat Disco Fries and other greasy goodness at the best Toronto diner, and talk about boys...

_So strange how everything went wrong so fast_

_And I hope that this confusion does not last_

               

                 It wasn't difficult to see why Stromer was in the GTA, and not down in Glendale with his team; he showed up at Mitch's place with a plaster cast encasing half of his hand and his forearm. Poor Dylan couldn't catch a break... well clearly he could, but certainly not the right kind. As soon as Dyls caught Mitch staring he rolled his eyes, not at Mitch, just at the situation.

                "The rookie tournament. Hairline fracture in my wrist. It's just my luck, really," he shrugged. "You gotta sign my cast. Don't draw any dicks though."               

                As soon as Dylan said that he’d never eaten at the Lakeview – like seriously, he’d lived in the GTA forever, how had he never eaten at the Lakeview? – Mitch had literally dragged him by his shirtsleeve to Yonge and Dundas Square so they could eat some delicious, over-the-top diner food, because if it was Mitch’s treat, it was also Mitch’s choice. And Mitch wanted breakfast food, but also poutine.

                They sat tucked away in a booth at the back of the restaurant, and Mitch was just so fucking thrilled to see his old friend, who looked really fucking good with his hair trimmed short, and with what had to be _at least_ a few days’ worth of stubble decorating his chin and upper lip. He looked grown up, mature... and, yeah, maybe that was the facial hair, but it might also have been the oppressive sadness in his brown eyes, or the way that when he smiled he looked anything but happy. But hey, at least he didn’t look sixteen anymore.

                Mitch thought about broaching the subject of whatever was on Dylan’s mind but... it was easier to talk about nothing while they waited for their food to come. Nothing more awkward than a waiter with bad timing coming in the middle of an emotional conversation. Mitch had been there, done it, bought the shirt. And he knew Dyls well enough to know that when he wanted to talk about it, he would.

                They were deep in the throes of a debate about the superiority of dogs over cats (dogs were definitely better, Stromer had no idea what he was talking about), when their order arrived, and Mitch realized he hadn’t eaten after practice today, and his stomach growled embarrassingly loudly as soon as he smelled the food. There was a disgustingly large plate of fries heaped in several types of cheese, some smothered in chilli, others topped with caramelized onions, placed between them. Stromer was already ducking into his meal, which was some Frankenstein hybrid of chicken and waffles and eggs benedict, and Mitch wasn’t sure if he wanted to start by digging spoonfulls of his apple pie milkshake out of the metal cup, or man handling some bacon strips, so he just settled on both, and Dylan laughed at him.

                “The NHL turns you people into cavemen, honestly,” he chirped, and Mitch couldn’t really respond with his mouth full of food, so he just shrugged. “Davo is the same way, now. No fucking table manners.” And though his words are harsh, he’s got that sad expression again, and now Mitch is like, way too curious not to ask.

                “Dyls, I hate to pry,”

                “No you don’t. You love to pry,” Dylan interrupted, but Mitch kept going.

                “Yeah so, _hate_ to pry, but what is going on with you? You look like you just took a whole season’s worth of losses in like, a single night.” And Stromer looked like he was about to chirp him for his shitty analogy, but instead he just shoved a handful of fries into his mouth, and. And if someone could chew sadly? Yeah, that’s what Stromer would be doing.

                “You can’t just eat forever, dude. Food’ll run out eventually, and you’ll still look like shit when it’s gone.”

                Dylan groaned, dropping his head into his hands, and he sounded like a wounded animal.

                “Love hurts, Marns.” He said after a while, and he didn’t meet Mitch’s eyes when he said it.

                “Yeah, tell me about it,” Mitch muttered, almost under his breath, because he could definitely relate. “What happened, Dyls. Tell Papa Mitchy.” And after Dylan gave him a disgusted glance over the nickname he’d given himself, he launched into his story.

                “Okay so, there _may_ or _may not_ be this friend of mine that I played with in the O,” he started, staring wistfully off into the distance like he was in some kind of bad chick flick. “And, like, I’ve been secretly in love with him for years, but I never bothered to do anything about it ‘cause, you know. Straight guys, amiright?”

                “Trust. I know all about,” Mitch shuddered exaggeratedly “straight guys.” And they both laughed, some of the tension seeming to leave Stromer’s shoulders.

                “Well, anyways. This friend that, again, _may_ or _may not_ exist is down for a visit the other day, and being all weird, so I finally ask him what his deal is. And get this: he comes out to me, right there in my bedroom. This guy that I’ve loved for years tells me he likes dick,”

                “Is that really how he said it?”

                “I might be paraphrasing a little bit. But that isn’t the point. Point is, I see my chance, and I take it. I kiss him. And he pushes me away, hits me with the whole ‘ _oh no, Stromer, I cherish our friendship, I don’t want to ruin what we have’_ spiel, and then just like that, he’s gone and there’s this gaping hole in my chest.” There’s tears prickling in the corner of Dylan’s eyes when he finishes, and Mitch just wants to reach out and hug him, to wipe all the tears away. But he doesn’t. Instead he just offers up the rest of his milkshake, which Dylan eagerly accepts.

                “And I don’t know, Mitchy. It’s one thing to pine in secret. It’s another to take a chance, and get your heart stomped on.” He sniffled, and slurped up the last of the ice cream from the bottom of the cup, and Mitch was nothing if not sympathetic.

                “I feel you, bro. I’m right there with you. Haven’t quite made it to heart stomping territory, yet. But…”

                “Matthews?” Dylan cocked a knowing eyebrow at him, and Mitch wasn’t sure whether he should be surprised or not.

                “How did you…?”

                “You really listen to that _‘don’t read your own press’_ shit, don’t you? You two are TO’s Brangelina. Anyone that knows you knows you’re all heart-eyes for the guy.”

                Mitch huffed, and crossed his arms in a petulant kind of way. But like, it made sense. They were Toronto’s sweethearts. And Toronto didn’t even know they fucking cuddled after games. He didn’t like how obvious it obviously was, and it Dyls knew… did Matts? Or were they both too far involved in the situation to see it objectively? Rather than think about it anymore, he swung the focus back to Strome.

                “So who’s your mystery man, then?” And Dylan looked sheepish and sad all at once, which Mitch didn’t think was a possible combination, but for Dylan Strome it apparently was.

                “Well, like I keep saying, this guy _might_ not even exist but… he also _might,_ and if he does then he also _might_ have been drafted first overall to the Oilers in 2015.”

                And, Goddamn, if Mitch had been drinking something, he would have spit it out all over Dylan, because he’d been friends with Dylan Strome and Connor McDavid for years, and had no idea at all about any of this, and how could he have been so unobservant for such a long time? In spite of all  the questions he could have asked, all he managed to choke out was a conspiratorial:

                “Davo?” And the blush that spread across Stromer’s cheeks, and up to the tips of his ears was all the answer he needed.

                They polished off the rest of their food quietly, and Mitch knew that he was thinking about Auston… he could only assume that Dyls was thinking just as hard about Davo. And, honestly. Dylan and Connor; he could totally see it.

                “Dyls, come back to my place tonight? I have a game tomorrow, you can come if you want.”

                “Oh yeah, gonna have me sit in the WAG section? Am I your pretty little puck bunny now?” And they laughed, not because the joke was funny, but because both of them were fucking lovesick and pining over their own number one picks and if they didn’t laugh they’d cry. And they just… kept laughing. They kept laughing, at nothing, at everything the whole way back to Mitch’s apartment, so much that they didn’t notice when their arms linked together, or when their heads bumped against one another, or just how comfortable they felt together.

                When they got back to Mitch’s place, he didn’t know why he did it, but kissing Dyls just felt like the right thing to do. He pulled him in by the collar of his shirt, and their lips pressed together with a sweetness that was not intended for either of them… It was a love that was intended for Conner and for Auston, but it was the only love they were getting, and all the love they needed to give and it wasn’t perfect but… but it was something.

                And when they ended up tangled in Mitch’s sheets, hands and mouths exploring every inch of skin on each other’s bodies, they could at least close their eyes and pretend for a while that they had what they wanted.

 

_this will be so hard_

_And I will long to hold you in my arms_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever eaten at the Lakeview though? Freedom Toast and an Apple Pie milkshake <3 A++++
> 
> Also. My love for Dylan Strome is just unending, and there will be a Davo/Stromer sequel so like. No worries there. But you know, sad transference sex between Mitch and Dyls is beautiful, but also sad.


	6. Day Old Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Auston CONTINUES to be messy. Also JAZZY.

_So let's face it this was never what you wanted_

_But I know it's fun to pretend_

_Now blank stares and empty threats_

_Are all I have, they're all I have._

                Jazzy was a nice kitty; she was gray and white and kinda fat, and she laid on top of Auston, purring loudly while he scratched her behind the ears. He’d never been a cat person, preferred dogs. But he liked Jazzy. And, like, she probably didn’t need her own Instagram account, but Naz was sort of a lot in his own way, so Auston and the guys just accepted it for what it was, and all followed the cat and her exploits in insta.

                So yeah, Auston just let himself believe that he was talking to the cat in his lap about his feelings for Mitch, about Mitch’s date, about all the shit that was going on in his head. And to his credit, Nazem was remaining about as quiet as his pet the whole time Auston spoke. And only once he’d been quiet for a long time, Nazem let out a long whistle.

                “That’s some heavy shit, kid. I thought you just like, popped a boner in the locker room or something.” And Auston groaned, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. This was a mistake, he shouldn’t have brought this problem to Kadri, or any of the vets. He should have just stewed in silence until he had an aneurysm or something.

                “So are you going to talk to him?” Naz asked, like it was the simplest thing in the world, and like… if Mitch were a woman, and not his team mate, and this was literally any other circumstance, it probably would have been that simple, so couldn’t blame Naz for trying. But it was just worlds more complicated than that.

                “I don’t know,” was all Auston could really think to say, and he let his head loll over to look at Kadri, who was regarding him warmly. “It doesn’t seem that easy.”

                “Why not?” He pressed. “Like, it’s hardly a secret how close you guys are. And you and me both know that Mitch is just about the sweetest guy in the league… so if he lets you down, it’s going to be the softest, gentlest let down in NHL history. So as far as I see it, you have two options: you risk it all for a chance, or you live in fear of the risk, and miss your chance.”

                It was those words that Nazem left Auston with that night as he set off, back to his own apartment… They had a game the next day, and Mitch would be picking him up bright and early whether he liked it or not. When he got home, he felt wired, but despite the way that his body was thrumming and his mind was replaying Naz’s words on repeat, he crashed almost as soon as his head hit his pillow.

                His alarm went off much too early, and Auston felt like he’d only just fallen asleep when he had to get up again. But… there was hockey, and Mitch to look forward to once he dragged his ass out from between the sheets, so he dutifully got ready, grabbed his equipment bag, and headed down to meet Marns out front.

                Of course, Marns was already waiting for him, all bright eyed and bushy tailed, and singing along to some country garbage on the radio. Auston slid silently into the passenger’s side, nodding at Mitch, who greeted him with his usual cheerfulness. He didn’t have the energy to chirp Mitch for his shit taste, or to change the station, so he just let the twangy garbage play, and he could actually feel Mitch watching him from the corner of his eye, but he didn’t say anything… no doubt remembering the tongue lashing he got last time he’d tried to, like… be a friend, and try to help out. And Auston would have really liked to contribute something, or crack a joke, or bicker over the radio or something. But all he could do was think about Mitch and Dylan Strome and that kiss and fucking Naz vetting him with dating advice and it all just sunk him deeper and deeper into the pits of despair.

                That night, Auston’s game against the Rangers is garbage, and he doesn’t score a single point, but Mitch got a hatty, scores the game winner, and when the team takes them out to celebrate, he can’t help but notice Stromer is there, pressed up close to Marns, and happily schmoozing with the rest of the team. Auston pointedly ignores him but. But Dylan makes no attempt to talk to him either so that’s. That’s good.

                Auston stays out just long enough to be polite, but tells Gards and Mo that he’s heading out early, citing exhaustion – exhausted of dealing with this gnawing _Mitch-feeling_ in his chest. And, honestly, he’d like to say he got over it with time. He’d like nothing more than to say that. But shit went on like this for the next six fucking weeks, and Auston was barely scoring, racking up just enough points to be a passible third line player in the NHL, but not enough to be the superstar everyone expected him to be. Mitch wasn’t doing much better, but he suspected that had something to do with late nights, and lack of focus…

                Since it was like, physically painful to spend time with Marns, he just casually stopped doing it; first it he started rooming with Brownie on roadies, and Mitch… well, he was Mitch. Anyone was happy to be his roomie. For a while, they still carpooled, but it became strained, and eventually, Auston was bumming rides off Naz, or JVR, or basically anyone that would let him into their car. He still found himself staring at Mitch sadly in the locker room when no one was looking, or watching him from the bench when they were on separate rotations. It was a miserable existence, but it was Auston’s existence. Until it wasn’t.

                It was November, a Saturday night game against the Caps when Auston finally snapped. Maybe it was the tension of playing the team that had crushed their cup dreams last year, maybe it was a the losing streak they were on, the lack of points that he and Mitch had been accumulating... Maybe it was everything, but it didn’t justify completely losing his shit in the locker room.

                He’d been half watching Mitch as he stripped out of his street clothes before the game, taking in the beautiful curve of his back, the way his muscles flexed and curled under his pale skin, the perfect slope of his shoulder meeting his neck… and that’s when he spotted the purpling flesh, the barely there but still _very there_ bite mark marring his throat and the sight of it, knowing Dylan had put it there… Auston just lost it. He stormed across the changeroom, so he was towering over Mitch.

                “The fuck is wrong with you, man?” Auston growled. Mitch spun to face him, blue eyes widening almost imperceptibly.

                “Hello to you too, Matts. Great weather we’re having,” was Marns’ reply, because Marns didn’t seem to have the ability to be serious when the time called for it.

                “Cut the shit, Marner. Look at you, you look like a fucking puck bunny for that little shit from the OHL. You’re spending all your time getting fucked, and not enough time on your game,” his voice was getting louder and louder as he went, and he was almost yelling, and he didn’t want to be but the faucet was on now, and it didn’t seem like there was any stopping it. “So maybe you should start focusing less on your dick, and more on scoring goals, bud.”

                And, God, there was that face again. The scolded puppy face, and wouldn’t you know it, it had been Auston’s fault again. But then the hurt was replaced with anger.

                “You’re one to talk. Last I checked, I’ve scored more than you have in the past month and a half, oh great Auston Matthews. So you worry about your own goals, and I’ll worry about my own dick, thank you very much.” And then Mitch turned around, and the conversation was over, and Auston felt like even more shit than he had before.

                All the guys were staring at them, or trying really hard to _not_ to stare at them, and Auston just couldn’t be in there right now. There was still some time before the puck drop, and he just needed to get away, so he left without another word, out into the tunnels below the ACC. It was too much to hope that no one would follow him, he supposed, because there were footsteps echoing around him that weren’t his own. But he was just. Just too tired to turn around and find out who.

                “Yo, Matts. Hold up,” when Willy’s voice rang out behind him, he wasn’t sure if that was worse or better than no one following him. He slowed his pace, and let Nylander fall into step beside him.

                “Hey, Willy.”

                “Look, I’m just gonna get right to the fucking point; that was hard to watch in there, but it’s been a long time coming between you two. I’m sick of watching you mope the fuck around, avoiding Mitch like he’s the plague or some shit, which is making _him_ mope around. You both need to work your shit out, ‘cause – I know it’s not cool to blame our losing streak directly on you two but – I’m blaming our losing streak directly on you two.”

                And then Willy was gone, back to the dressing room, and Auston was once again alone with the sage advice to work things out with Mitch… Which if it were that simple, would he not have done it a long time ago?

_The things we do just to stay alive…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> K I stayed up til 5:30am writing this, because I couldn't sleep until it was done apparently? So... there may be typos, idk lol. Also, fucking Auston, man. You're killin' me.


	7. Sam Malone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitch has some trouble with the Oilers.

_And I can still remember, you know I can still hear your voice, your voice._

_Although your silence, your silence still rings so clear._

 

            The last six weeks had been full of mixed emotions; it wasn’t hard to see Auston pulling away from Mitch, and he didn’t understand why. Nothing had changed between them that he knew of, but clearly something had changed for Aus, and Mitch didn’t know how to fix it. He’d had Stromer to fill the void as much as he could, just as he’d been there to do the same for Stromer, and it was… well the sex was great, which was hardly a surprise. It only took one look at Dyls – his stick handling, his presence on the ice, his command over the Otters, leading them to win the J. Ross Robertson Cup – to know that he knew how to use his body. So it was good, but he wasn’t Auston.

            It had been a few days since their game against Washington (they’d swept the Caps, and Mitch definitely had his rage to thank for his part in that), and since Auston’s little scene in the locker room, and Mitch was still fuming. Stromer was in Edmonton visiting with Davo, and watching his ‘Yotes play the Oilers, so he couldn’t even whine, or let off some steam or… ugh.

            Instead, he was curled up in his apartment, watching old Cheers reruns, and being cranky about Auston when the texts came in…

 **_Connor:_ ** _Stromer is acting weird and won’t tell me what’s up_

 **_Connor:_ ** _But I have a feeling it’s something to do with whatever you 2 have going on_

 **_Connor:_ ** _So like. I’d appreciate if you could back off of him?_

                And like, what the actual fuck was it with people coming after him and his personal life lately? Especially people like Matts and Davo, who were the reasons Dyls and him were doing the whole… sadness fucking thing in the first place. So yeah, Connor McDavid was his friend, but he was crossing a line, telling Mitch that _he_ was the one causing problems.

 **_Mitch:_ ** _Davo, u can fuck off_

 **_Mitch:_ ** _Ever wonder WHY Dyls isn’t talking 2 u about it?_

 **_Mitch:_ ** _Well he’s talking 2 me. So maybe ur the one who should back off of him_

Because Connor wasn’t the only one that could triple text. Buzz buzz, motherfucker. Guess who. He didn’t hear back from Davo anymore after that, but his mood just darkened from there. Didn’t help when he remembered the Leafs were playing Edmonton the day after tomorrow, so he’d more than likely have to deal with Connor in person. Both on and off the ice. Wonderful.

                Mitch skipped an optional skate the next morning, in lieu of hitting the gym for far too many hours, focusing his anger on bulking up, getting stronger. He didn’t want to have to see Auston, who was an over-achiever that didn’t see optional skates as optional, and who was also an ass that in spite of everything – ignoring him for the last month, slut-shaming him in front of the team, having the nerve to criticize Mitch’s game when he was in his own slump – Mitch still loved deeply, would still probably accept back into his life with open arms if the right apology (and peace offerings of Iced Capps and Tim Bits) was given. But everything was so up in the air right now, and Mitch didn’t even know if Auston wanted Mitch back in his life…

                So right now seeing him still kind of felt like being punched in the head. And Mitch would go to great lengths to avoid that kind of pain.

                Even so, game day came the next day, and the team piled onto the plane to Edmonton bright and early. He sat with Marty on the plane, and spent the entire flight soothed by his big-brotherly presence. Willy and Kappy were nearby, never far from each other, and Mo and Gards were just a couple rows ahead, playing team Dads for everyone. And it... it felt nice. Maybe it felt a little bit hollow, like there was still a part of him missing without Auston to lean on, but he could still take solace in the fact that the rest of his team had his back. And even without Aus, he was still surrounded by friends, by his boys in blue.  

*~*

                The game was tied 1-1 with eight minutes left in the second when the inevitable happened, and Davo meets him in the Leafs zone, skating up to him like he owns the rink and hitting him with a glare that he’d never seen on Connor’s face before.

                “If you got something to say, McDavid, just say it,” Mitch shrugged. They both knew better than to let personal shit bleed over onto the ice, and vice versa, but clearly emotions were flaring tonight and Davo didn’t care about etiquette. Instead of words, Mitch was met with a shove. “Dude, what the fuck?”

                “I told you to back off Stromer. I meant it,” Connor growled, he actually fucking growled, as he grabbed onto the front of Mitch’s jersey. “I know you’ve got eyes for Matthews, and you don’t get to break his heart.”

                Mitch scoffed at him, taking his own hold of Davo’s jersey, and the two of them circled around each other, fists clocked, ready to take a swing at any moment.

                “Believe me, Connor, _I’m_ not the one that’s going to break his heart.” It was then that Connor threw his punch, but Mitch’s helmet took the brunt of it. But then the adrenaline was flowing, and helmets had hit the ice, and Mitch wasn’t sure what exactly came over him, but next he knew there was ref pulling him up from the ice, and off of Davo, who was definitely going to have a black eye tomorrow.

                As he was escorted to the penalty box, he didn’t bother listening to the announcement, and took his five minutes in stride. From the bench, he caught eyes with Aus, who was giving him a look that was a cross between confused and impressed, and it was just such a perfect look on his stupid, beautiful face that Mitch couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled up inside him. And, God, when Auston laughed back at him… it hit Mitch how much he really missed his friend, how much he just wanted Matts back in his life, in whatever way he could have him. Maybe… maybe after the game he could bug Aus to buy him that peace offering, and they could work on going back to normal.

                Maybe he could switch room assignments with Brownie (because him and Zach were going to be out until curfew anyways) and… Well, maybe Mitch just shouldn’t get ahead of himself.  But with hope blossoming in his heart, his five passed quickly, and he was back on the ice for the last two of the period. Mitch was skating towards the puck, vaguely aware of another body skating up behind him, but he was smaller, faster, and he would get to it first. If he got it, he’d be clear for a breakaway and –

                Something pulled him back. Someone had him caught by the jersey, and his forward momentum was gone and he was moving backwards towards whoever had been chasing him down. He didn’t even have time to see who had him before all he knew was pain radiating through his head, after a fist struck him in the temple like a hammer. Mitch was seeing the entire Rogers Place in double, and then the ice was coming up to meet him… or, he supposed he’d collapsed onto the ice. Shit, he was tired. The period must have been over by now, maybe he could convince the Zamboni guys to go around him, and he could just sleep here on the ice during intermission…

                The last thing Mitch saw before his eyes fell shut was Auston Matthews tackling Milan Lucic.

_And I know, there is_

_Some place I can go_

_Where no one knows my name._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to state that I'm not implying for one second that I think Milan Lucic would sucker punch someone period. Especially not for fighting with his captain. Who instigated the fight in the first place. BUT. Someone had to do it, and Lucic is KIND OF A GOON, OKAY? I'm sorry.


	8. Comin' Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Auston has some feels. Also holy dialogue, Bettman (see what I did there?)
> 
> Trigger warning at the end, I guess?

_I'd rather wake up beside you and breathe that old familiar smell_

_I never thought you could leave me, I figured I was the one_

_but I understand your sadness so I guess I should just hold my tongue_

                There are times in life when some things cease to matter; times when things like pretence, ego, defence mechanisms, even personal safety become irrelevant, and you’re forced to focus on only what truly matters. Seeing Mitch get laid out at the blue line, seeing him defenceless, at the mercy of a sucker punch from Lucic, seeing his blood stain the ice red… that was one of those moments for Auston. He didn’t even register that what he was doing was a suspendable offence as he leapt off the bench and hurled himself at Luc. Suspension didn’t matter at that point anyways, though – Auston was going to go to jail, because he was going to fucking kill Milan Lucic.

                He was vaguely aware of the rest of the team fighting around him, of a full on line brawl in the works, but like… tunnel vision. His sights were set, and Luc was definitely stronger, a more experienced fighter, but Auston had pure, unadulterated rage on his side. He was taking hits, but enough adrenaline was coursing through him that he didn’t even feel them. Then there were arms around his waist, another set around his shoulders, and no. No, he wasn’t done yet. But it was Mo and Gards, and they were prying him off of Milan, and they were skating him back to the bench, and Mitch was being wheeled away on a stretcher and no, none of this was right.

                Coach was there, telling him he was out for the rest of the game, and he heard it but only understood the words once Naz was escorting him back to the change room. In any other circumstance, Auston would be saying he didn’t need a babysitter, but… but he wasn’t sure that, without Naz holding onto his arm, he’d be able to stay up on his own.

                Mitch. Where was Mitch. Was he okay? Or was this the Bertuzzi incident all over again? Oh God. Mitch. They were supposed to play together for their whole careers, Mitchy’s career wasn’t supposed to be over in its second year.

                Naz lowered him down into his stall, and dropped onto his haunches in front of Auston. His face was etched with concern, and rightly so. Auston was sure the whole team was worried about Marns. God, one second he’d been smiling at Auston from across the rink, and then… and then he was gunning for the puck, and. He was so small, he’d hit the ice so hard.

                “Matts, I need you to pull it together,” Kadri said. “He’s in good hands, but you’re bleeding, like, a lot. And you’re in some kind of shock, so I’m gonna need you to drink this.” He thrust a Gatorade at Auston, who drank it mechanically. They sat in silence for a while.

                “PT is gonna be coming in shortly to stitch you up, but they’re sort of all hands on deck with Mitch until they get him loaded into the ambulance.” Oh God, ambulance. He needed to get to the hospital. He needed to get to Mitch. He needed…

                He needed to tell him how he felt, because fuck the league, fuck his career, fuck his image. He didn’t care, it all meant nothing if he couldn’t play with Mitch. He went through his wound care in a daze, spent the whole time asking the PT crew how Mitch was, and got nothing but tight lipped responses from them. They stitched up something above his eye, and tried to ice his lip, but he didn’t have time to sit and wait for his swelling to go down. He had to get to the hospital. He had to get to Mitch.

                When he looked around the locker room, he noticed that Naz was still with him, standing against the door jamb that lead back to the rink. Their eyes met briefly, and Kadri nodded at him.

                “Go,” he said. “I don’t think Coach is expecting you to stick around, anyways. But if anyone’s wondering… just go.” Auston was thankful, and there was already an Uber on the way for him.

                The Royal Alexandra Hospital was just like any other hospital Auston had ever been in, except this one contained the feeling of existential dread. And when he was directed to Mitch’s room, he found it also contained one Dylan Strome, who was waiting patiently outside until Marns was cleared for visitors. Auston wanted to feel hostile, he wanted to feel something towards Dylan… but all his emotional energy was focused on Mitch right now, and he supposed that he couldn’t begrudge Dylan for being here. He cared about Mitch too.

                A doctor came out of Mitch’s room, after what seemed like an eternity, and gave them both the go ahead to go in and see him.

                “He’s awake and coherent, but he’s tired, so if he falls asleep, please just let him sleep,” the doctor warned, before continuing his rounds through the rest of the hospital. Auston was about to charge in, when he realized that… maybe Marns didn’t want to see him right now. Maybe he wanted to see Dylan. Auston took a step back, and gestured for him to go ahead… but Dylan shook his head _no._

“I have a feeling he’ll want to see you more than me, Matthews,” he shrugged, and Auston had no idea why, because he’d been nothing but an asshole to Marns for the past while, but he took it for what it was. He was about to cross the threshold when Dylan spoke to him again.

                “Hey, that was pretty cool what you did. Taking on Lucic like that.”

                “I would have much rather have had myself in there instead of him,” he echoed his words from last season, taking on a new meaning today. “I’ll always fight for Mitch.”

                And then he was in there looking at his best friend, hooked up to an IV, and to electrodes to monitor his brain waves, and he had a split lip, but he was conscious and looking at Auston with sleepy blue eyes and that same Mitch smile that he’d missed so much.

                “Hey,” Auston said, because God he was smooth. Great with words.

                “Hey yourself. You look like shit,” Mitch muttered, though his words were a bit slurred.

                “Speak for yourself.”

                “’m gonna be out for a couple weeks, I guess. They said I have a concussion, but I should make a full recovery.”               

                “I’m probably going to be out for a couple games too,” when Auston told him that, Mitch’s eyes widened with concern.

                “Did you get hurt? I mean, yeah, look at your face, but is it worse than it looks?”

                “What? No. I’m going to get suspended. For leaving the bench. And fighting with Lucic.”

                “Dude, you fought with Lucic? Are you crazy?” And Mitch was laughing at him now, but Auston just shrugged at him.

                “Fucker KO’d you, I wasn’t about to let that slide.” Mitch stopped laughing, but he was still smiling when he replied.

                “Oh, is that what happened? I’m a big foggy on the whole thing. Concussion, you know.”

                “Yes, so you’ve said.”

                And this wasn’t the conversation Auston wanted to be having with Mitch, and he knew Mitch was tired, and that Dylan was waiting outside for him to hurry and get it over with, so he came and perched himself on the edge of Mitch’s bed.

                “Look, Mitch. I know I’ve been the worst lately, and I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to apologize for it,” he started.

                “It’s okay, Aus.”

                “No, Marns, it’s not. I’ve been a shitty friend, and I don’t deserve to have you back, but like… seeing you get suckered out there tonight. God, it just put so many things into perspective. But just. I need you to know that I love you, and I’ve loved you for a long fucking time. And I learned tonight that if I never got the chance to tell you, that I’d regret it forever. So yeah,”

                “Matts, I…”

                “It’s okay, Marns. We’re friends, and you’re with Dylan, and I get that. You don’t have to say it. But I’d like things to go back to normal.” Auston was already up, and halfway out the door. Mitch was calling after him, but he couldn’t bear to hear anything that he had to say right now. Instead, he stepped back into the hallway, an clapped Dylan on the shoulder.

                “He’s all yours, Stromer.”

_I know that we're takin' chances, you told me life was a risk_

_but I just have one last question..._

_will it be my heart or will it be his?_

_I'm comin' home_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: K so. I mention the Bertuzzi incident here, just in passing, but like. That's a pretty brutal mention. And I don't want it to upset anyone. I was gonna go more into it, but I was just like... nah, that might be in bad taste. So. Yeah.
> 
> Anyhoo. We're wrapping up! Does anyone want smut? Cuz I can write smut, or we can keep this fluffy. Cuz my future Stromer/Davo fic will have smut. So like. Feedback appreciated :)


	9. Casey's Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Connor Brown and Zach Hyman are idiots, and Stromer is the real OG.
> 
> But like... PROGRESS.

_With you on my mind_

_And my heart held in your hands_

_Screaming, break me_

“Dyls, am I fucking high?” Was the first thing Mitch asked when Stromer came into his hospital room. “Like what the hell do they have me on?”

                “Pretty sure it’s just Tylenol, Marns,” Dylan assured him, looking for the label on Mitch’s IV bag, and trying to scout out any prescriptions in the immediate area.

                “So… Auston telling me he loved me just now. That wasn’t some weird trip?” Dylan’s eyes were, like, comically wide as he stared at Mitch, and if he wasn’t feeling so out of it, he’d probably be laughing at the ridiculous expression.

                “Dude, what?”

                “Dude, yeah! But then he rushed out of here. Did he say anything to you?”

                “Told me that you were all mine,” Dylan was actually laughing now, and Mitch just groaned.

                “Why did I fall for such a complete moron, Stromer?”

                It wasn’t long before the Doctor returned, and cleared Mitch for release, and him and Dylan were in an Uber back to the Leafs hotel before a full hour had passed. He was shaky on his feet, and the world spun around him, so Mitch was more than happy to let Stromer bare his weight until they made it back to the room he was sharing with Hyman. Brownie was waiting with him, and there were a lot of hugs exchanged before Mitch finally got to lay down again.

                Dylan plopped himself down on the foot of the bed, pulled out his phone, and immediately started texting. He was using Mitch’s legs as a pillow, and his own legs dangling onto the floor. Meanwhile, Connor and Zach were crowding around Mitch, telling him how cool his fight with McDavid was, how Auston delivered a fucking beatdown to Lucic.

                “Bro, it was hardly a beatdown, Matts took way more than he gave,” Hyman argued.

                “Yeah, but he was totally defending Marns’ honour! Way badass!” Brownie shrieked back.

                “Connor, Zach… would you guys mind switching rooms tonight?” Mitch interrupted them, and they looked at him, then back at each other… then back at him again.

                “So like, you want to room with me?” Brownie asked, and God, this was why people thought athletes were stupid.

                “You absolute dolts, just get Matthews in here!” Dylan sighed dramatically, and the two Leafs looked like they’d just had an epiphany.

                “Oh, yeah, of course!” And then they were shuffling from the room, hastily collecting their things as they left. When it was just the two of them, Stromer climbed up the length of Mitch, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.    

                “I’m glad you’re good, Mitchy. Davo says he’s really sorry about everything too.” And Mitch was definitely still pissed at Davo, but it would pass. He was caring about his best friend in his own way… and it wasn’t his fault that his team mate was a fucking goon. “I’m gonna head out, stay over with him tonight… Uh, good luck with your Auston stuff.” Then Dylan was heading out of the room. He heard the quiet exchange at the door.

                “He’s all yours, Matts.” And then… there was Auston, with a face full of stitches, and a bruise purpling his chin, and like… apparently actual love for Mitch in his eyes, although he was giving him the same look he always had. God, it really had been a long fucking time, then. Had they really both been wasting time pining over each other like idiots? There was a lot of quiet, kind of awkward staring before Auston finally spoke.

                “Mitch, why was I just forced out of my room?” He asked, and Mitch had so, so much he wanted to say to Auston, and he wasn’t sure if it was the concussion, or having Auston here in front of him, but the only words that came to mind were:

                “Auston, get into this bed, and cuddle me.” And Mitch had never seen Auston comply so quickly in his life. He stripped off his jeans, and shimmied the covers out from under Mitch. For such a big guy, Aus was so gentle as he wrapped himself around Mitch, carefully tucking his sore head against his chest, and encircling him in his arms, and yes, this was everything, because Auston was his NHL Prince, and the best thing in Mitch’s life that wasn’t hockey.

                “We’re back to normal, then?” Auston’s voice was barely a whisper into his hair, a hot breath that tickled his scalp, and made goose bumps rise on his skin. 

                “No. No, we’re not.” Mitch felt him tense up, try to pull away, but Mitch grabbed him by two handfuls of his shirt. “But, I want a new normal.”

                And, fuck, it hurt like holy hell to crane his neck up, to meet Auston’s confused stare, but Mitch knew. He knew it would be worth it, because this moment had been in the making for way too long. He’d dreamed of this, and sure his dreams he’d been in way less pain, and not concussed, and Auston had been holding flowers and didn’t have stitches in his face, but hey. Beggars and choosers, right?

                “On the first day we practiced together, you shattered that pane off my pass. And ever since that day, I’ve known it was gonna be you. It’s always been you, Matts.” There was really no telling who went for it first, but their lips finally met in the middle, and it was soft and hesitant and it was such a perfect thing in such an imperfect setting…

                “I love you too, Auston.” The sound that Auston made in response was guttural, like if a moan and a purr had a one night stand, that sound would be their mutant offspring. And, weird mental image aside, it was a sound that sent a pang of arousal straight to Mitch’s dick. And he could feel he wasn’t the only one. Aus’ hands grasped at his shoulder blades, pulling him in tighter, and kissing him again, this time with more force, more intent. There was more than a season’s worth of tension in that kiss, and Mitch returned it all eagerly, despite the protesting from his head.

                The slick wetness of Auston’s tongue was a welcome intrusion, as it slid along his lower lip, and dipped into his mouth, claiming Mitch’s own tongue with his, and Mitch was only vaguely aware of the small whimpering sounds that were escaping his throat… But they only seemed to spur Auston on, judging by the way one of his hands came around and started forcing Mitch’s pants off his hips.

And oh God yes, Mitch was way into it. He was a bit loathe to stop holding Auston against him by his shirt, but he had the feeling that Matts wasn’t going anywhere. He’d touched Auston lots of times, sure, but touching him now – running fingertips down his obliques, feeling the hard curve of his hip, palming his erection through his boxers – was a totally new, completely thrilling experience. He wanted more. More skin on skin.

                “Aus, can I?” Mitch asked, sounding much more desperate than he’d intended. But the look in the brown eyes gazing back at him, half lidded, and full of desire, made him forget to be embarrassed about being needy.

                “Please.” And Mitch felt a lot better, because not he wasn’t the only one that sounded needy.  

                Auston’s cock, much like him, was thick and hard,  and everything that he wanted in that moment. Once freed from the confines of his shorts, Mitch wrapped his fingers around the length, could feel the chill that coursed through Auston’s body when he did, and that was all the encouragement he needed to start stroking him with long, slow flicks of his wrist.

              Damn, he wished there was some kind – any kind – of lube, so their first sexual experience together wasn’t some awkward, dry handjob. Well, it was what it was, he supposed. He continued touching Aus with one hand, while using his free hand to push his pants the rest of the way down his legs… when he felt something in his pocket that definitely wasn’t there before. He fished it out.

              And then started laughing. Much to Auston’s chagrin.

                “Marns. If you maybe couldn’t laugh when you’ve got my dick in your hand…”

                “I’m sorry, but,” Mitch tried to stifle his giggles, but to little success. “Only Stromer, I’m tellin’ ya.” A crease appeared between Auston’s eyebrows, which was adorable, and Mitch would have kissed it away if the sudden movement of his head wouldn’t have been pure torture.

                “Yeah, and if you _definitely_ couldn’t mention Dylan Strome while holding my dick,” Aus sighed, annoyed.

                “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but…” Mitch held up the travel sized bottle of lube that he’d pulled from his pants, that Dyls must have slipped in there between Hymie and Brownie leaving, and Auston arriving. “Stromer. We’ve gotta thank him later.”

                And then Auston was laughing too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, stopped before the good stuff ;)
> 
> I was told smut was wanted, so... smut started. Smut may resume later on. 
> 
> Also, follow me on tumblr, I only have 7 followers?
> 
> beautiful-flyaway


	10. Sometimes (I Wish)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End.

_If I was a simple man_

_And I could make you understand_

_There'd be no reason to think twice_

_You'd be my sun; you'd be my light_

Auston never thought. Never imagined in his most ridiculous fantasies that he’d be laughing at Dylan Strome while getting jerked off by Mitch Marner… but life was weird that way.

                And, oh God, he was getting jerked off by Mitch. Who was beaming up at him with a smile that was too big for his face, and with eyes the colour of their jerseys, and he was beautiful even with his face covered in cuts and bruises. And who loved him.

                Mitch was popping the cap on the _care-of-Stromer_ lube when Auston took it out of his hand, and tossed it on the pillow next to him. He, in return, got a questioning look, but Auston just answered him with a smirk, and pushed himself up on his elbow. He slipped a hand under Mitch’s neck to cradle his head, making sure it didn’t have to move any more than was absolutely necessary, and moved to cover Mitch’s body with his own.

                It was a struggle to lean down and kiss Mitch while also trying to free his erection from his boxer-briefs, but Auston couldn’t stand to not touch him any longer. And, like, maybe it was going to be clumsy, and unskilled, and maybe the only dick he’d ever touched was his own, but he wanted. He needed to get them off together. After a couple unsuccessful attempts, Marns had mercy on him and, laughing against his lips, lifted his ass and slid the underwear half way down his thighs.

                The laughing came to an abrupt stop, turned into a whimper as soon as Auston gyrated his hips, giving them both just a taste of friction. He was finally forced to pull away from Mitch’s mouth when it was time to make use of the lube, and – with much fumbling, and Marns making a face like he was about to start chirping at any second – he managed to one-hand some out of the small bottle.

                His fingers were cold, coated in silicone, as he wrapped them around his cock, and he stroked himself a few times for good measure before pulling Mitch’s length into his grasp as well.

                And then Mitch jerked up into his hand and.

                Oh.

                God.

                Ay, Dios mío.

                And in that moment, Auston knew that Mitch Marner was going to be his undoing.

                With their slicked erections sliding together, just like in any other circumstance, they had such perfect chemistry, and fell into a rhythm easily. Auston’s grip was tight around them as they rocked their hips in time, and at this rate…

                “Auston, I’m so close.” And, yeah. Auston’s thoughts exactly. He could feel Mitch’s muscles straining beneath him, could feel him throbbing beneath his fingers. And it was so… so fucking hot, knowing all of it a was because of him. Auston was so focused on Mitch’s involuntary movements that he was almost startled when a hand came to rest over top of his, and then with every thrust they were closer to finishing each other.

                “Oh, fuck, Aus.” Mitch broke first, his face contorting into the most beautiful expression Auston had ever seen, his come spilling onto their conjoined hands, and coating their t-shirts. And Auston was so overwhelmed with it all, with finally having Mitch after so long, with having him shatter like a pane of glass beneath him, that he followed close behind. To choke back the moan in his throat, he dropped his mouth onto Mitch’s, and when he came, he resisted the urge to bite into Mitch’s already busted lip, which was a challenge because he came fucking hard, and it would have been nice to have like, a mouth guard or something to take some of the brunt of that.

                With both of them sated, Auston slid his hand out from under Mitch’s head, and collapsed next to him, super aware of the drying jizz that covered them both.

                “Gross,” he murmured, before he was met with a look of wide eyed horror. “Oh, wait, no. Not that! That was, uh, kind of amazing. We’re just sort of covered in… we should clean up,” he stammered.

                “Can’t you just… stay and cuddle?” Mitch asked, and how could he deny that request?

~*~

                “Two games is like, the absolute minimum, dude. You got off pretty easy,” Mitch grinned, threading his fingers through Auston’s as they left the disciplinary hearing. “It’s basically a vacation!” And truth be told, Auston didn’t give a single fuck about his suspension; he’d have jumped off that bench again in a heartbeat. And, yeah, he was getting off way easier than Lucic, who (for the time being) got stuck with an indefinite suspension, and landed the Oilers a fine of $250k) and even Mitch, who wouldn’t be able to play again until his concussion symptoms eased up… which everyone hoped would be sooner rather than later.

                “Two games I get to spend at home with you then, I guess,” Auston shrugged. “Speaking of which, we’ve been out all morning, you’re probably exhausted. Let’s get you to bed.”

                “Okay, Mom.” Mitch chirped, but he was still smiling. He’d been smiling pretty much constantly since he got back from the hospital, which was just about the best thing ever.

                “What we did last night would be pretty fucked up if I was your Mom, Marns.” At least Mitch had the decency to blush. But he didn’t argue… about last night, or about going to bed, so Auston dragged him back to his apartment, and lead him to his bedroom.

                “Can I wear some of your clothes?” Mitch asked, and Auston’s heart absolutely did not start pounding like he’d just scored the game winner in OT. Or maybe it did, who cares? Because Mitch was his now, and he could happily admit that his best friend, his boyfriend did crazy things to his emotions.

                “Yeah, sure.” Auston left to get Mitch’s Tylenol from the kitchen, and when he came back… Mitch was wearing his Centennial Classic t-shirt (which was two sizes too big on him, and looked ridiculous, but also kind of sexy?) and was about to burrow himself beneath the covers of Auston’s bed.

                “Take these,” Auston instructed, forcing the pills into Mitch’s hand, and he complied sleepily before curling up and looking at Auston expectantly. Even if Auston hadn’t planned on joining him (he had), he couldn’t have said no to that look. He dropped his pants, and crawled into bed next to Mitch, wrapping his arms around his waist, and letting Mitch bury his face in his chest.

                And in that moment, there were a world’s worth of words on the tip of his tongue, but none of them needed to be said, and so in this silence here, there was just Mitch, and Auston, and nothing to say.

 

_Sometimes I wonder why,_

_I'm so full of these endless rhymes_

_About the way I feel inside_

_I wish I could just get it right_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess that's all folks!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Please leave a comment if you liked it <333 
> 
> And watch out for the Davo/Stromer sequel!


End file.
